


The Biggest Part

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Tigerland (2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's things you'll leave out of the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Biggest Part

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Charli J

 

 

Title: The Biggest Part

Fandom: Tigerland

Rating: PG-13

Summary: There's things you'll leave out of the book.

Pairing: Roland Bozz/Jim Paxton

Author's Notes: Not much to say, really. Other than I hope it provides a little entertainment.

\---

There's things you'll leave out of the book. Lots of little things that will feel too sentimental, too personal to share. Like how Johnson cries out for his mother in his sleep, at Tigerland, during those one hour breaks for sleep. Or how Miter kneels next to his bed every night and prays that he'd come home alive, hoping that his wife would love a war hero more than a butcher.

But you will leave out the biggest part of the story. You'll write it up, to include it in the first draft. It should include the reason why the both of you were so late returning to base, after you and Bozz chicken out of jumping, but the book never will include the kind of love the two of you shared.

Now is you and Bozz in a taxi. Somehow, heading back to the base turned into stopping for more pot and a bottle of whiskey. Nothing wrong there. Returning drunk won't be too bad. Stoned, might not be the smartest idea, but hey, you're with Bozz and it always feels like the consequences won't touch you.

You get drunk, too drunk to keep down the whiskey, and you puke all over your shoes, and the floor of the cab. You can't hear what the cab driver is shouting over Bozz's booming laughs, as he pulls you out of the cab. Then you're running, Bozz laughing harder as he tells you he doesn't have any money for the cab.

The two of you run into the woods outside of the base. You can barely see in front of you in the predawn light. You stumble along after Bozz who's still laughing hysterically. There's vomit on your shoes. You can smell it. It makes you sick again.

"Jim?" Bozz asks, when you stop walking and lean against a tree.

You wave a hand off, then slide down the tree, the bark rough and scraping your back as you slide down.

Bozz comes over, sips form the whiskey, and sits next to you. So close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, the stink of marijuana that clings to his skin. He hands you the bottle.

"Take a sip, get that taste out." He says. When you refuse to take the bottle he puts it to your lips. You take a sip, let the warming liquor slide down your throat. It stopped really burning before you were stupid enough not to jump.

"Shoulda jumped." You tell Bozz, as he sits in the dirt and dead leaves and starts to roll a joint.

"Yeah." He agrees, focused on his task.

You watch his hands, stomach still an uncomfortable bundle of nerves and regret. "We don't have to go back."

Bozz looks at you. That same look he gives when you ask why doesn't he get himself out of this place. You don't know what it means, but you know you're going to be going back to the base. He doesn't say anything, just gives you that look for a long moment, then goes back to rolling his joint.

"Yeah..." HE say to the look. "You're right."

You pick up and leaf and start to clean off your shoes. Poor leaves. Everyone says they're the most beautiful right before they die. You don't look up from what you're doing until you hear Bozz coughing, and he nudges your shoulder. You take the joint and take a deep drag.

"They're not going to be happy with us, Bozz." You say when you realize how light it's getting.

"Fuck them." IS the only reply you get, the one you expected.

Silence as you and Bozz smoke and sip the whiskey. "Poor driver." You comment, once the silence starts to bother you.

Silence didn't always feel so empty, before you met Bozz. Now, anytime you're around him, you need to speak. Make noise and be here. Be alive.

You turn your head to say that, because you're drunk and stoned and maybe Bozz will understand, but Bozz's face is right there. Close to yours, nose almost brushing against yours. You stare at him. Up this close and stoned, it's a funny thing to see, Bozz with one eye.

Right when your about to laugh at cyclops Bozz, his lips are pressed against yours. Your breath catches in your throat in surprise. But that's Bozz, right there. Unpredictable (not that you could ever predict Bozz kissing you), taking what he wants.

Bozz pulls back and fixes you with his charming, good ole boy smile. But you fucked a girl in the same room as Bozz. You know there is no good ole boy in him.

You just stare at him. _What the fuck was that?_ Your eyes say, even though your heart is giving this pleasant little flutter that reminds you of the girl you left at home, and the first time you kissed her.

"Had to do it." Bozz says, as if that explains it all. As if that justifies the kiss.

You stare some more.

Bozz grins at you.

"Don't look so shocked, Jim." He says, and leans in for another kiss. Deeper this time. A real kiss.

You return it, clumsily. Which is a bit of a surprise, but Bozz always has that affect on you. Makes you do things you never dreamed of doing.

The problem is, you have dreamed of doing this. Another thing you'll leave out of the book.

Bozz chuckles into the kiss and pulls back. "No wonder your girl left you, if you kiss like that." He says, and you're not sure if it's a real insult, or a challenge.

You take it for a challenge and kiss him first this time.

Years later, you'll be reread all of what you just wrote. You'll know it can never go in the book. You'll think Bozz wouldn't mind, but you'll have a family then. A family Bozz made possible. Somehow you don't think your thirteen year old son would like to hear about Dad kissing another solider in the woods. You'll be too old for challenging society, for telling the complete truth.

And that knowledge will make you cry, silently, as you burn the pages in the trashcan by your desk.

\---

End.

 

 

 


End file.
